


Tipping Point

by 1863



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Pining, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 05:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21452419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1863/pseuds/1863
Summary: Avi's hands are always moving. Viggo can't help but watch.
Relationships: Avi/Viggo Tarasov
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	Tipping Point

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: 100 words of wanting someone you shouldn't.

Viggo watches the pen twirl in Avi’s hands. Up and around and back again, over and over, long fingers manipulating the cheap plastic tube with smooth, practiced skill. It’s something Avi does often, has done since the two of them first met – hands and fingers always moving, twisting pens and pencils and flicking ash from cigarettes, or idly playing with the lid of his ever-present lighter. Try as he might to ignore it the sight never fails to catch Viggo's eye, to make his mind drift and wander into places he knows he can never, ever go.

“It shouldn’t be a problem,” Avi says now, flipping through a sheaf of paper and addressing the room at large. He scans a page full of notes and Viggo watches the way his eyelashes flick up and down, catching the light of a nearby lamp. And still Avi’s fingers are moving, twirling the pen in perfectly controlled arcs around his forefinger and thumb. “Might be a little risky,” he adds, “but I can handle it.”

It’s been nearly two years since Avi entered his service permanently, cutting ties to all other clients and accepting everything that official membership entailed – everything, good and bad, despite the fact that not being Russian meant there were certain things he’d never be able to claim. Viggo has never asked him why he accepted the offer and Avi has never asked him why it was made, but he does know that the look on Avi’s face the day he swore his fealty was what tipped the balance – and what sealed Viggo's fate. 

The loyalty was expected, as was the trust, but there had been something even deeper there when Avi recited the words, when he sliced into his own skin and offered up his own blood – something hot and sharp and knowing, but something very carefully controlled. And it’s the constant trace of that something in Avi’s eyes that makes Viggo think about things he knows he shouldn’t indulge in. 

And yet, indulge he does – again and again, night after night, with handsome, square-jawed professionals or alone in his apartment and into his own bare hands. It’s gotten to the point where he’s distracted even during the day, when he should be focused on work and not on thoughts of Avi’s fingers toying with other, larger things. 

“Trust me,” Avi says, self-assured but not cocky, not quite. "I know what I’m doing. And I’m very, very good at it.” 

Avi’s voice is always slightly hoarse, a permanent catch in it that makes him sound like he needs to cough or clear his throat. He sounds especially rough today and against Viggo’s better judgement, he’s already thinking about why. A lifetime of smoking is the obvious answer, of course, but then Avi licks his lips and Viggo’s mind immediately gives him a different possibility, complete with visuals that are dangerously, devastatingly clear: Avi’s lips wrapped around something far more substantial than a cigarette, something big enough to stretch his mouth wide and wear out the inside of his throat.

Kirill makes some remark that makes Avi grin. Viggo stares at his mouth as it twists in amusement, catching a glimpse of sharp white teeth, and Avi leans back in his chair before launching into a detailed explanation of what he’s been planning. 

In another life Avi might have served the Table in a different capacity, blessed as he is with the silver tongue of a born hustler. But he’d also been gifted with the intelligence to use it in a rather more effective way, and instead of wasting those skills as a grifter on the streets, Avi honed them in a law school instead. No one interrupts him now as he speaks, not even those who’d protested the loudest when Viggo announced Avi’s new position by his side. Avi has proven his value to them a thousand times already; no one in the room doubts his skills anymore. 

“I’ve done it before, lots of times,” Avi adds. “Making people desperate for things they never even knew they wanted.” His grin takes on a darker slant. "Just give me the hook and I'll reel him in. Easy.”

He trades the pen for a cigarette and Viggo watches him roll it between his fingers, staring at the filter where it rubs against his skin. He slides the box across the table and Viggo picks it up without thinking, weighing it in his palm, eyes trained on Avi's mouth as he lights up. Avi is still talking and while the actual words aren’t sinking in his voice is a rough rasp in Viggo’s ear, the sound of it pulling him in even deeper – all the way down, down, down, past the point of stupid risk and beyond. He stares with open hunger when Avi lifts the cigarette to his lips again, stares at the way his mouth closes around the end of it, stares at his cheeks hollowing as he takes a deep, deep drag. 

“We should just go for it,” Avi says, briefly turning away to exhale a lungful of smoke. “Strike fast, ride him hard. Make him really want it.” His voice drops a little and Viggo leans forward, chasing the sound, greedy for more. “Just keep pushing and pushing,” Avi adds, voice getting softer and softer, “till he’s on his knees and _begging_ –"

And that’s what makes Viggo slip up, what causes the slight but unmissable loss of control – the sudden thought of Avi on his knees for him, of Avi’s whisky voice gone even deeper and rougher with lust, of Avi shamelessly begging him to do what Viggo would have willingly done anyway. What he's wanted to do, in many and varied ways, for _years_.

Viggo swallows hard and his face flushes with heat, and his fingers tighten reflexively around the box in his hands. The cardboard crumples in his fist and Avi looks up in surprise – looks up and right at Viggo, into his eyes, and Viggo has no time to hide his thoughts. They're plain upon his face, completely exposed and laid bare for Avi to see. Thoughts that are a critical weakness, that are as fatal to them both as a bullet shot directly into the brain.

Avi goes still for a moment. Viggo sees their futures spinning out in new directions – Avi’s probably cut short, however much Viggo might wish otherwise. Kirill would probably be the one to do it, Viggo thinks a little wildly; at least then it would be quick, as painless and impersonal as it could ever be.

But then – 

Then something wholly unexpected happens, something that makes Viggo uncurl his fist and take a slow, steadying breath. It does nothing, however, to ease the way his heart is now racing inside his chest. 

Avi smiles. Just a little, barely noticeable, but it’s there and it’s genuine and suddenly, Viggo sees an entirely new stream of possibilities unfolding in the slight curl of Avi’s lips, in the faint gleam of cautious hope in his blue, watchful eyes. And when Avi speaks again, his voice is layered with a warmth that hadn’t been there before. 

“What do you say, Viggo?” He takes another quick puff of his cigarette, the faintest of tremors just visible in his hand. “I can give you all the options, and I’m here for every one. But in the end...” Avi looks at him in the eye and takes a deep, deep breath. “It’s your move to make.” 


End file.
